-
The Voice Mail of Mia Wallace.
"Hey, there, Daddy-o. I'm not available right now, but leave yourself a message and I'll get back to you in two shakes of a lamb's tail." -
OOC :: Contact Post.
For any OOC communications regarding Milieux or Mia.
I can also be reached at bound2blade@gmail.com or via AIM at Skylie1313.
Comments are screened. La. -
OOC :: Lit Class :: Information.
Tomorrow starts a new semester, yay! And I'll have the first class up in just a little bit, but first, I'd like to share the syllabus and a request, as well as a little blurb on what I have planned for the class.
( The Nature of the Class ) -
Little Yellow House on Blueberry Hill; Monday Afternoon.
As promised in the email, Mia had out both punch and pie and even coffee (lots of coffee) in the little living room of the little yellow house, and she lounged in the big weathered leather armchair with a book, bare feet dangling off the armrest. She had a plate, a mug, a cigarette, and moody thirties jazz from her record player. It was so nice ( Read more... ) -
Little Yellow House on Blueberry Hill; Sunday Afternoon.
Tapping ash from the end of her cigarette into a small, formless red tray of ceramic, Mia let out a trail of smoke from her lips as her eyes passed over the computer screen once more. Content with what she saw, she went ahead and clicked the little grey send button.
( Email for Pulp Culture students. ) -
The Porch of the Little Yellow House on Blueberry Hill; Saturday Afternoon.
It was still raining. Did it ever stop raining here? It made Mia pretty restless. She'd just gotten off the phone with a call to Marcellus, out of sheer boredom than anything else, and now she slipped out onto her porch, leaning against the wall as she looked out over the little lawn, the street, all that rain. It made her feel...isolated. ( Read more... ) -
Porch; Little Yellow House on Blueberry Hill; Monday Afternoon.
Bare feet propped up on the porch railing, Mia had a glass of whiskey on the rocks beside her, a cigarette between her lips, and the sounds of classic motown drifting through her open kitchen window from her old brass phonograph. There was a notebook cradled in her lap as she tilted back in her chair, but it was being ignored for the book in her ( Read more... ) -
The Porch of her House; Late Sunday Night.
Having watched the nightly news update as she was growing into the habit of doing, Mia shut off the television and quietly found herself relocating outside to the quietness of her porch with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a scotch on the rocks. She sat quietly looking out into the night, thinking, although not entirely sure of what her thoughts ( Read more... ) -
Little Yellow House on Blueberry Hill; Tuesday Afternoon.
Small towers of boxes still decorated the lawn, although Mia had made progress on several things after the movers took care of the furniture and left. The important things had been taken care of. Like the record player, set up and playing some Dusty Springfield through the open windows of the house, into the yard, as Mia waifed about, more likely ( Read more... )